A Neuroi Incursion
by Empty Promise
Summary: What if a Neuroi managed to find our world? A world without magic, without witches, a world that doesn't realize a new threat exists. Now an old enemy tries to harness their power to rise against the United States. And a cast of politicians, soldiers and spies will have to face a threat greater then any seen before in order to save it. And now a witch too has entered the fray...
1. Prologue

**Karlsland Border, November 11th 1945**

Lufftwaffe _Hauptmann_ Gertrude Barkhorn gripped her twin MG-42s tightly as she followed the darting hexagon covered fighter, trying to find an opening to strike from. Behind her, the three other witches of her flight, the Fuso healer Yoshkia Miyafuji, Gallian Ace Perrine Closterman and the Suomus witch Eila Ilmatar Juutilainen fought their own private battles in the sky around her.

A swarm of these small Neuroi drones had jumped them, and was now running, perhaps realizing they had bitten off more then they could handle from the four witches. Following one of the black craft around a bend of trees, Gertrude felt her lips purse into a smile as she raised her guns "Got you" she chuckled firing both slightly ahead of the drone, leading it with the training drilled into her skull.

Hot streams of 7.92 Mauser danced to the side and in front of the Neuroi, one or two lucky bullets striking home and knocking the beast off balance with a horrid scream. Adjusting her aim, she tore it in half, with one last roar the Neurou fell to the ground in pieces before turning to a shower of hot white shards. The hairs on the back of her neck twitched and she heard Eila shout "Barkhorn, behind you"! She spun around, shield up as an incoming blast stuck her magic defense.

The Suom blasted the Neuroi responsible in quick order with her own MG-42, silently the Karlslander thanked the girl's magic gift of foresight, allowing her to see into the short term future. This was not the first time it had saved her and many others in the heat of battle. Pressing a finger to her ear, and the magic powered radio inside it, she thanked her wingmate for the help.

"No problem Cap'n". the Grey haired girl replied causing Gertrude to sigh, turning her attention elsewhere, she found the battle won. Both Closterman and Miyafuji flying to rejoin her and Eila. Gertrude warmed a bit as they grew near "Not bad, today you all handled yourselves well. I'll make sure to add that to my report". Closterman smiled, Miyafuji's face warmed as she thanked Gertrude, and Eila blew her tongue calling such official praise "worthless".

Gertrude ignored her as they flew back, not giving her a talking to for such conduct towards an superior seemed her reward enough in Barkhorn's mind.

...

 _Alone..._

 _All others destroyed._

The lone drone would not go the way of it's fellow combat forms, it had replayed their mistakes in it's own brain. Seen the errors they had made, and was now ready to strike back. Flying high above the humans, it calculated it's plan one last time, dive at a speed akin to that sound traveled to close the distance before leveling and attacking so quickly, at least one enemy would be dealt with.

And so it began it's speeding assent, the closet thing inside it that could be called glee warming over the idea of killing one of it's races greatest foes. Perhaps that is what clouded it's calculations that day, that or not realizing that one of it's targets would know in advance of it's attack, when a human in blue yelled and the four turned their weapons skyward, it did something it had not intended to do, or calculated the effects of.

Fired the internal laser housed inside it's core, the process of which, converting matter within it's area into energy, mixed with the speed it was now at, caused a chain reaction that had but one result...

...

Barkhorn watched the Neuroi, breaking the speed of sand with a bomb, glow as it readied to fire, and then...cease to exist. One moment there before them, the next gone. Her eye swore it caught it, faded for a moment, see through before it disappeared, but she could never be too sure. Once again, she thanked Juutilainen for her warning, before moving heading back towards base again, no one quite sure what they had just witnessed.

"it just...vanished..." Miyafuji said to herself, Gertrude had no argument with that, although she didn't think it some kind of combat move by the Neuroi, more some type of...accident of sorts.

"Nothing can just disappear like that, can it"? Perrine questioned out loud. Only Eila, ever the observant one, had a different thing to say "Maybe it didn't disappear, maybe it...went somewhere else"? The blonde witch rolled her eyes at the mention of this "Then where could it have gone to?" Eila only lifted her shoulders into a shrug "Maybe it's like where our legs go inside our Strikers when we fly, somewhere else."

Everyone's mind on the return trip to base was on what they had seen, or what they hadn't seen after a moment.

...

For a moment, nothing, for a single second, the Neuroi didn't exist. Then, it did again, and found itself once more in the sky, a lighter sky, now above water,part of it's body gone, ripped off by the event that had just transpired. The buzz inside itself told the Neuroi it's location had changed, somewhere far west of it's last location. And it felt...empty, it could not sense any of it's kin nearby, no other Neuroi within almost 500 kilometers, and that was scanning on it's highest levels. It seemed as though this was a separate planet from the one it was on before. All it _could_ sense, was nearby landmasses, islands. Driving on programmed instinct, the drone made it's way towards the nearest one.

...

Elsewhere miles away on a strip of beach, a smaller piece of it, found itself weak. Too weak to reform, or to even try and scan the area around it to find it's location. All it could do is wait...

 **USS _Battan_ C** **aribbean sea, March 28th, 202-**

Deep within the depths of the US Navy warship, inside the Combat Information Center, the brain of any warship, a sailor watched...something appear on his monitor, once moment the space between Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic was clear of aircraft, and the next, something was just...there, as if i'd appeared out of thin air. He hesitated for just a moment, before calling out "Sir, you gonna want to see this"!

 **Fun Fact: I own WAY to many trashy Tom Clancy spoof, Military "Techno-Thriller" novels, i buy the things for 3 for 1$ at local book stores on a monthly basis, and after so many of them, i thought "Hey, what if i took that idea of military fiction and semi-political drama and added a Strike Witches aspect to it? I may be a monkey, but i can do that much"! and thus, this story was born! ...If your reading this anyway, its my own little guilty pleasure project for now, i hope to have a few chapters out as your reading this, publishing them in pairs for double the fun (or cringe) value. The plot is simple, a Neuroi is somehow transported to Earth, and now this will start a chain of events that lead to a conflict on the steps of the United States.**


	2. Chapter 1

**1,033 miles south west of CONUS (Continental United States), March 28th 202-**

Major Hal Jordan of the United States Marine Corps VMFA-211, clenched the stick of his AV-8B Harrier as he first laid eyes on the "UFO" he and his wingman had been dispatched to find, prowling a dozen nautical miles off the coast of Puerto Rico and only 40 from a military exercise. The aircraft was small, about the size of a UAV, and it was shaped like a triangle with the edges smoothed out. It's body was covered in hexigons, with red trim at the front and sides of it's "wings".

"Battaan" he said calmly into his radio, speaking to the _Wasp_ class assault ship, currently taking part in a naval war game off the coast of Florida "This is Stalker-1, i have eyes on Uefoo, it appears to be a drone of some sort" he said saying the three letters of UFO as a single word "Orders?" he waited several seconds for a reply, in that time, he watched the craft with an eager eye, a trait most men in a cockpit had, the craft was on a straight heading that would take it straight into the heart of Puerto Rico at a speed both Harriers could match with ease, if it was a drone, it was the dumbest drone he's ever seen.

"Stalker-1, you have permission to engage bogey, weapons free"

He felt his lips curl into a smile as he selected his target, and lined the small craft up in his sights. A green box blinked before turning solid over it on the display before him as he called out the call sign for a air to air missile launch.

"Stalker-1, firing, FOX-3"! From his wing, a single AIM-9 Sidewinder jetted forwards towards the unknown aircraft. In a red tinted flash, the missile was gone, and before Jordan could react, the bogey was already responding to their actions. It throttled back on it's speed, flying backwards towards the two Harriers, his wingman, Stalker-2, piloted by captain Mark Watts swore into his radio "holy shit"! as both jets banked away out of it's path.

"Where the hell did he go"? Watts asked, Hal moved his head left and right, trying to reacquire the craft, to no avail.

"Battan, this is Stalker-1, bogey has taken evasive actions, we are-" He was broken from his sentence as a beam of harsh red light tour through the sky from behind them, cutting into Watts tail section and right wing, and searing through like a hot knife through butter. The Harrier spiraled down towards the waves bellow as Watts screamed that his seat was jammed and he couldn't eject. The remains of the aircraft struck the water at a speed Hal doubted anyone could survive.

Pulling his craft into a tight turn, he began trying to find the enemy craft. "Stalker-1, Stalker-1 what is your status, over"? he heard his radio bark, the radar site at Guantanamo Bay had likely seen the loss of Watts via radar, and was now trying to get figure out what had happened. "Stalker-1, what is your SITREP, over"? Jordan spoke, his voice laced with ice "Stalker-1 here, the Bogey has downed Stalker-2, and is currently going evasive, over" For several tense seconds, no one spoke, as the controller realized the seriousness of the UFO.

"Stalker-1, be advised, we have dispatched two Harriers from from the _Battan_ , ETA 10 mikes" It'd take them ten minutes to reach him moving at full speed and loaded for combat, but he didn't think he'd be their to greet them if he waited that long. His radar told him the UFO was now trying to circle around, and likely hit him from the rear, a better attack angle.

He wouldn't give the bastard a chance. She wasn't an F/A-18, but the Harrier was nimble when it came to getting up close and personal, and he'd show this son of a bitch for sure.

Turning his aircraft straight, he waited for the unknown to close in on his tail giving her just enough speed to make his foe chase him, and at the last moment, he slowed down and broke right, watching the back dart sail by at high speed , kicking his burners into overdrive, he turned the tables on it, and with a solid tone, fired twice calling "Stalker, Fox-3"! He watched the beast try and outrun the two missiles , both impacted, knocking the thing down with a flash, he watched as it sailed into the waves bellow with a splash that threw up the waves around it. Banking for a better look, Jordan picked up two more contacts his radar, for a moment his heart jumped at the prospect of two more enemy aircraft, but he quickly noticed the IFF markers signaling them as two more Harriers launched from _Battan_ , his backup.

"Stalker-1, this is Stalker-3 and -4, on your six, over" he smiled, his fellow wingmen from the 211th, as both jets formed up alongside him, he realized this was going to be one hell of a thing to explain, but remembering Watts, he knew that if it _could_ be explained, it had better damn be.

 **White House, April 1st**

On a humid Monday morning in the national's capital, National Security Advisor to the president of the United States, Admiral Lawrence Fisk knew his day would be a tough one the moment he found a folder lying across his desk at Fort Mead, stamped **US Navy** in blood red ink, they'd stopped marking them **Top Secret** once it became apparent _anything_ that made its way to his desk was of the highest of secrecy. Inside was an after action report written by a marine pilot who'd encountered some type of unknown aircraft in the waters off Puerto Rico. It didn't match any known aircraft, and it had shot down a marine fighter from the USS _Battan_ before another splashed it. The _Battan_ was part of a naval exercise going on in the Caribbean, Tropic Eagle and an unknown aircraft splashing a US fighter on America's doorstep wasn't something to be taken lightly. So far they'd hushed it up, but someone was going to atone for it, that he would make sure of, hell it sounded like an April Fools joke damn it, but a good man was dead, and he was going to get to the bottom of it, one way, or the other.

Hence, he now sat in his car at the polished black gates of the White House, a uniformed secret service officer in white checking his credentials as a second had a dog on a lease sniff over his car searching for bombs, after a little over two minutes, the gateman nodded handing him back his ID card "Your clear to go through sir" and waved him inside the open gates,he parked around back, and walking inside, saluted the Marine sentinel standing guard at the door in dress blues as they opened automatically from the inside, a second marine behind the desk operating them. The air inside the nation's seat of power was cooler, and he realized how the sentry must envy his indoor counterpart, out of the sticking heat. Walking up a pair of steps he went through a metal detector, both having his body scanned with the wand, and walking through a full body one to his annoyance , the secret service, he had to admit, took it's mission seriously.

On the other side of the detector, a young woman dressed in a red suit and skirt was waiting with a clipboard "Admiral Fisk, the President is waiting for you" she said leading him through the halls and towards the most important room in the west wing, the oval office. At the entrance, she stepped aside the door "He'll see you now" and left him alone to enter, grasping the handle, he stopped, and knocked, he heard a distinct voice from the other side answer "Come in" and he did as it asked.

Leaning on his desk, the President had a file ,a copy of the one he'd seen that morning, in hand and was looking it over, his face twisted with his lips bent in dismay "Is this true"? he asked Fisk, his voice soft, the Admiral had heard this tone before, it was the president's worried voice, the same voice he used during his national security briefings when he learned of a disaster like a tornado, or of a tragedy that left many dead, a voice that held to it, a common sadness that man head, no matter the job he held.

President James R Marshall had run on a campaign of peaceful strength, at rallies he had preached for unity in his nation, and a taken a stance against the country's overseas affairs when so much of it's troubles were at home, and when he'd won the election in a electoral college landslide over his Republican rival it hadn't been too much of a surprise, the former president before him had lot the faith of his party, and a majority had voted against his reelection, Fisk had wondered what the man from a New England coastal town would do for the nation before he'd been elected, and so far, he'd agreed with him.

Fisk had quickly found Marshall to be the type of man one expected to head a nation, calm and fast thinking. He showed this again as he placed the folder down "The pilot said he thought it was a drone. Could this be China or Iran"? This was just the sort of thing either nation might do, send in a spy drone to watch US fleet movements, but Fisk didn't think they'd kill over something so...in terms of their own national security, trivial, and he didn't think either had the logistics to launch such an operation so far from home.

"Could it be Israel, god knows Tel Aviv has always played by it's own rules" he said referring to the city that was home to Israel's intelligence service and equivalent to the CIA, Mossad.

"No sir, not even they are this ballsy, and even if Israel isn't a team player, they would still rather stay away from trying something this bad against us, truth is, we have no idea what it could have been, we only have the guncam video to go by so far" the grainy video showed the Harrier's dogfight with the aircraft, not only had it been able to destroy a missile in mid flight, but it seemed to posses some type of concentrated energy it could use as a weapon. This fact shocked the POTUS further. "Who has a weapon like that"?

Fisk didn't have an answer "No one does, not even us" he remembered the USAF's anti airborne weapons laser was still years in development at it's testing range in Groom Lake Nevada, the Army had a smaller laser that could be mounted on a Humvee, but it was nothing like this, it was meant for destroying IEDs, not as an anti aircraft weapon like some bad 50s flick.

"Lawrence" the president said using the seaman's first name, a basis they'd been on since he'd taken officer two years prior "What do you think i should do"?

He wanted Fisk's opinion, a man with more time in the service than he'd been in politics, an old warrior's view. A smart question. "Mr President, if we are going to assume this is some type of new threat, then we had better not get caught with our pants around our ankles. I'd suggest we alert all ships taking part in Tropic Thunder and double CAPs along the Gulf of Mexico, if whoever did this tries to strike our fleet again, they'll be in for one hell of a surprise" Fisk answered going on "We should inform the commanders of our overseas fleets to be alert for anything like this as well".

Marshal nodded "Do it. As long as it is a purely defensive measure, if you think it's necceary to the safety of our forces, do it" he was shocked, Marshal wasn't the type of leader to give a blank check like this. "Lawrence, how long have either of us known each other"? he asked, changing the subject, Fisk could recall that, his first day in office, they'd had a meeting, off the records, where he'd asked the man to stay on aboard, that he needed someone like Fisk, even if they had different thoughts on how to get things done, the Admiral was an asset to the country, the last president had made that clear.

"The reason i wanted you to stay, was for days like these Lawrence. The days when men in my shoes have to make tough calls, and need people to be there to tell them it was the right choice." the president turned, taking a glass of water from his desk and taking a deep sip, Fisk recalled the man's distaste for alcohol.

"Sir, do you need men like me to help make the right choices, or just to tell you that you are making them."? the Admiral inquired with a sight smile, trying to lighten the mood. Marshal smiled "Ever the sense of humor Lawrence, maybe that's the real reason i kept you on board isn't it"? He laughed, something he realized he needed in such a tense time, the Cuban Missile crisis had kept Kennedy up for almost almost 96 hours straight, the last thing the leader of the United States needed is the stress of the world on his shoulders, like the sword of damocles over over his head.

He just hoped that sword would stay a metaphor.

 **Punta de Maisi, Republic of Cuba, April 2nd**

Colonel Hector Franco was not a happy man. At age 56 he was one of the oldest men still in service with the _Dirección General de Inteligencia_ or DGI, Cuba's security bureau, and the oldest man still active in the operational division, most of the men he'd served with had been "retired" to the support division, shuffled behind a desk by the youth who did not recall all their forefathers had done for them, in places with names like Grenada and Angola.

Stepping out of the Soviet designed UAZ jeep, Hector approached a group of a dozen people crowded near a palm covered path down to the beach, being held back by two Policemen dressed in white with berets, one looked at him and nodded " _Señor_ it is good that you are here, the...object we called about...it is down on the beach". Hector had been told just that, _something_ had crashed on the beach, so they'd sent him out alone, partly due to the fact the American base at Guantanamo was less then forty miles away, and partly because most had assumed it to be an over reaction by the police, likely a drone of some sort, more then one had crashed onto Cuban shores from some rabble in Florida sending them over. But the officers eyes held a certain uncertainty that made Hector think perhaps this was no simple toy.

Walking down the hill passed the mob, two more officers stood watch,on tipped his beret as he moved passed, and older man. _He remembers_ Hector thought to himself as he made his way down the beach, to the tapped off area of the crash. Behind the tape, a round black object was embedded in the white sand, a red hexigon pattern seemingly carved into it's skin. Behind him, the old Police had followed, and looking too at the strange thing, asked "What is it"?

Hector smiled "What we have been waiting for" as he placed a hand on the orb, that seemed to glow with warmth "A gift from above" he said, turning and heading back towards his Jeep. He had a few calls to make...


	3. Chapter 2

**DGI headquarters Havana, Republic of Cuba, April 3rd, 202-**

The unassuming glass building looked like any other office building on the outside, save the men who stood on rotating watch at it's front doors, armed agents on sentry duty. Inside, the building housed the nerve center of Cuba's state security service. Rooms teaming with computers, and cabinets filled with files that dated all the way back to when a forty two year old state Senator from Massachusetts had just taken office.

Bellow it all, dug deep shortly after the Crisis of 1962, a massive bunker complex ran under the building. Only the most secretive and important information and meetings were held in the space bellow, if it made it through the doors of DGI HQ and bellow, it was a matter of Cuba's survival. And today, with the black orb placed on a white sheet covered table in a clean room, it seemed it was again to the men looking over the strange shape. Outside the room, through a sheet of thick one way glass, Colonel Hector Franco watched it all. What ever this thing was, it seemed to be a sign, the testing they'd done so far said it seemed to hold a large amount of energy, letting off a steady stream of heat and even a small amount of (harmless) radiation.

He'd had an old friend he had served with in Angola, now part of the "support" section, look into the amount of energy it could produce, and found the orb seemed to be able to harness enough power to run a small car, given it's size, half a meter across both ways, that seemed rather good for how light it was in terms of weight, he had been able to carry it under one arm, his coat over it passed the crowed on the beach the two days before. Whatever it was, it was advanced, perhaps some sort of stealth satellite?

He leaned forwards in his seat, and spoke into a microphone to the men in the next room "Begin with the next test please." And watched them pick up a bulky box like computer, the DGI had many like this not for it's headquarters, they had managed to smuggle the latest technology when needed during the embargo, but as left overs from the end of the cold war, or for agents acting abroad loaded with basic information for a an agent in a enemy country. The device was off, and not connected to the buildings grid, the last thing they needed was some _La Yuma_ made virus infecting their servers, courtesy of the CIA. Besides a small amount of basic files every DGI set contained, it was clean.

To test it's power, the took a modified plug, and placed it against the orb's side to utilize it's energy, at once, it began to glow a soft red, and the PC's screen came to life in an instant. Pages of text flashing with ever blink as they seemed to be flipped through at high speed. Hector stood up, and quickly rushed his way out into the hall, and inside the clean room, despite protest from the two men inside at his entrance.

The PC screen kept flashing with text, even as one of the men held the power button down. "Some kind of...virus"? Hector asked s they watched it flash for another minute, before stopping. The blue homepage was gone, now black with red trim. Before any of them ould question what had happened, a word document opened, and in Spanish, began writing.

 _Plug in optical device_

Hector took a moment to read it, and another for his brain to fully understand what this...computer was asking him, before turning to one of the men in clean suits and ordering him to fetch a camera for the computer. The man nodded with a quick "Yes _señor_." as he left to room at a run. He had seen a lot of strange things in the 40 years he had given to his country, but what seemed to be a sentient computer virus. No one had something like this, definitely not the _La Yumas_ at Langley. Whatever it was, it was for now, in Cuban's hands alone.

The man returned, plugging the small eye like device into the back of the PC. At once, the light on it began blinking, and the virus "spoke" again.

 _Optical device connected...what is current location?_

Hector steadied himself and realized this would be a long day, before speaking "You are in Cuba, in the western hemisphere, where precisely in Cuba however i cannot say." He said the words slowly, catching on to why the virus had asked for a camera, it was reading his lips.

 _Very well...that answer is sufficient. Why have you activated me? I was on the verge of shutdown when you connected me to this device..._

So it seemed to orb itself was what he was speaking to, using the computer as a tool to communicate. Clever for what still seemed to be a machine. It wasn't American, and he doubted any other country had something that was advanced as this, a self thinking machine out of some bad film with an Austrian actor.

"What are you..."? he asked it slowly aloud.

The PC churned again as text appeared again _I am Neuroi._

 _Neuroi_? Franco thought, an unfamiliar word to him that gave him a name for the orb, but it hadn't fully answer his question. "No, what are you? Who created you and where are you from?"? A tense moment of silence passed as the computer churned loudly again, and Hector realized this story would be a long one.

 _From what i have taken from this device, this world is the world i come from. There my kind is at war with another. We hale from a place far outside the reaches of your planet even now, more advanced then we once knew. Even now it seems i have been displaced here by an accident..._

Hector rubbed his chin intrigued, a tell that had kept him out of the card table for most of his life. It seemed this...Neuroi was an alien of sorts, to be simple about it at least. An alien would have much to offer him and Cuba in terms of science.

"So then...would you be willing to, exchange technology with us? Show us what your own race has done?" The PC screen was blank for a moment, as if even a being from space needed time to think things out, before a reply came.

 _Yes...in a manner of speaking. We do not create technology. We are technology, and advances ourselves through other race's creations. But i can upgrade your existing machines, in exchange for information of my choosing, access to the information networks this device is currently locked out of._

Why would you need that"? Hector asked. The machine took only a moment to reply _To better understand your world, and to create things that will be of use to the both of us._

Hector smiled. "Well, a test would be in order at the least, but i will see what i can do." he said, before asking another question. This seemed like it would be a long day indeed. He had to bring this to the top, to Miguel Díaz-Canel, President of Cuba. Something like this could change a lot of the problem they were having...

 **Fort Meade, Maryland Headquarters of the National Security Agency, April 3d**

If the Washington DC area had one thing besides landmarks, it was a major traffic problem.

Traffic up the ass.

That was something Kurt Mannsly had found out the hard way when he'd first be recruited to work for the NSA, damn commute killed him for almost an hour every morning. If not for his love of music, he thought he might go crazy waiting in the backed up lines of cars filled with people like himself on their way to work stuck in the gridlock. A bit of the Yelowcards or Sum 41 tended to steady his nerves, even if that seemed a little ridiculous given the tone of such bands, music kept him sane in all this insanity.

Getting through the traffic on the 295 from Alexandria was a rough but like every morning he made it through with only a few ruffled feathers, He stopped at the gates of Fort Meade as a NSA Police officer in a black uniform stopped the car, Mannsly took out his NSA badge and handed it to him. After running it through a scanner as a second officer kept an eye on him, and a thrid waved a wand past his car looking for explosive residue, the let him pass onto the grounds that housed one of America's most important defenses. Pulling into the large parking lot with the imposing black obelisk of a building blocking out the sun. Whoever had designed NSA headquarters hadn't thought about it being conspicuous. Black pans of glass that reflected the outside make it look like something out of a bad Sc-Fi film rather then a government agency.

Walking inside, through the lobby containing the agency's seal across the floor, the American eagle with the US shield over it's breast, and a key in it's claws. He made his way passed it, into the elevator and up to his floor, as the doors opened, the noise of phones ringing and a printers buzz carried into the small space as he stepped out.

Kurt Mannsly had kept good grades in High School and College, taken his courses in geopolitical and mathmatics with stride. And when the day had come almost four years before, he'd graduated and applied to the NSA to put his skills to use although the large paycheck helped make up his mind. He had been working his way up for four years to this, the best they had, the analysts.

Sitting down at his desk, he booted up his PC. Checked over his emails and sighed in for today workload to be sent. Like most days, nothing but phone traffic from the ends of the earth. It was an analyst's job to take that jumbled mess and get a clear picture of what was happening. If so and so called whom, then a picture of their operations could be carved out from phone records and recent calls.

At least on paper, in reality it was a pain in the ass. Trying to make sense of it all took time, and national security wasn't something that could wait for you. It was an battle up hill the entire way. Today was no different, of all places, Cuba seemed to be getting hot. A dozen phone calls to the Police over something crashing on a beach in eastern Cuba, along with a leak on a shipment of Mig-29s.

Some General had spilled the beans over the phone, it seemed calling them "The Delivery" hadn't been enough to fool anyone, they would be coming in the next week, fresh from whatever plane graveyard the Russians had pulled them from. He spent an hour and half going further, trying to find anymore dirt on the Mig-29 sale, it seemed the more pressing of the two, but made a note to quickly mention the crash on the beach if he had time, could be some kind of Cuban drone program, and if not, well the NSA didn't pay for people to get lazy.

At 10:00, he alongside other analysts met in one of the briefing rooms to go over what they'd found, over the hour, everyone presented the dirt they had dig up. Kurt pointed to the Mig-29 sales as a sign of Cuba's economy healing, no one would spend money like that if they had other problems, not likely for Cuban president Canel, the man was on a path of rebuilding his country after so long a rule undercut with problems before he had come to power.

At 12:30 he got a message. The big man wanted to see him. He sighed. Admiral Lawrence Fisk was deeply respected, but he was also brash, he ran the NSA like he had run his ship. Clean, effective, and most of all bullshit free. Making the rounds to his office, down the "deadman's walk" to the next floor. His receptionist, a woman in her mid 30s it seemed, He told her he was Kurt Mannsly, and she nodded at him "Admiral Fisk will see you" and buzzed into her intercom telling the Admiral he'd arrived as he walked through the solid oak door to meet with him.

Behind a massive desk, in a Navy blue coat with enough ribbons on the breast for a VERY rich child's Christmas, sat an aged man, hair only just starting to grey, with blue eyes who motioned for the younger man to sit. Kurt did so, and Fisk took no time to get down to tacks. He began looking over a file, _his_ file he realized after a moment, eyes darting back and forth as if skipping about the page. "Kurt Mannsly, born May 7th 1997 Concord New Hampshire, attended Harvard with high marks, in both geopolitical studies and psychology." he read out loud. Both then turned back to him "Mr Mannsly, why is it you joined the agency"?

"I love my country sir" he said almost automatically, not a lie but far from the truth when it came to the real reasons he had take the job. Fisk smiled "Well then i have a job for you, ever been to Puerto Rico?" he asked. Mannsly frowned, quickly seeing where this was going...

 **USS** **_Battan ,_** **Caribbean Sea, April 4th**

Marine Major Hal Jordan hated one thing more then enemy action, reports. After action reports to be precise, but after losing Watts. They'd held a service for him the day after the battle. Hal had spoken, telling everything he could about the man he'd flown with since flight school, trying to, even in death, give him one last time to shine before they laid him to rest, an empty coffin cast into the sea well a blue clad honor guard fired off shots in his memory. Damn it, he'd write a million of the damn reports if it could bring him back. He'd been stuck in his cramped quarters for close to a week now only leaving for the funeral and food, he had been put on the no fly list until the "incident" was fully explained. He didn't think that'd happen any time soon.

He had written his report, knowing how it sounded, "A UFO shot down my wing man" but damn it, it was the truth and he knew it. Damn it if he ever found out how it was that- He heard someone knock and called them to come in. A sailor in blues entered, saluting and speaking "Major, captain requests your presence on the bridge" before leaving. Standing, Hal stretched his legs as he stood up, after so long cooped up in here, he thought the walk alone might at least do him some good. And a meeting with the Captain, well that could go either way.

...

The Bridge of the _Wasp-_ Class amphibious assault ship was alive with activity as sailors worked to navigate the vessle, they kept the ship on it's course using digital charts, GPS and the latest date from weather satellite for course adjustments, a far cry from old charges and instinct that has been used when the Navy had been founded long before. And in the middle of it all, in brown working khaki, an older man, with faded black hair watched over everything, like a lone sentry standing guard in case of trouble. The captain, who juggled time between the bridge and the CIC to get a clear picture of the 360 degree area his ship encompassed.

Entering with a salute, Jordan was nodded over the the Captain, Charles Lensford. Rumor was Lensford had been a SEAL before he'd shattered a knee during a firefight in Grenada back in "83", and had been forced to chose another service in the Navy early in his career, and had worked his way up through the surface fleet to his command now.

"Major Jordan, it seems someone has taken an interest in you. I received orders to have you flown to Roosevelt Roads for a meeting with someone from the Washington." he said, referring to the Naval Station located on the northeast coast of Puerto Rico. The mention of the State department caught his ear as well. Had someone perhaps finally got their head out of their ass and taken notice of the report he'd written? Maybe the government wasn't so inefficient after all.

Lensford spoke again "A Seahawk will be ready to fly to to Rosy tomorrow . Be ready Major." he said with just a hint of his stern officer's nature in his voice. Hal kept himself from nodding out of habbit "Yes sir, i will be." he snapped a salute with his promise. Lesnford smiled "Good then. Dismissed." Walking off the bridge, past the Marine guard at entrance who gave Hal a crisp salute, his mind was aflame with questions, did someone really want to listen? He guess he would find out soon enough.

 **Roosevelt Roads Naval Station,** **Puerto Rico April 5th**

The steady beating of the SH-60 Seahawk's rotors grew louder as it grew bigger, kicking up dust and making Kurt hold a hand to his face to keep the wind out of his eyes. He watched the grey helicopter land, a door opening on the side as sailors ran hunched over to throw blocks under the wheels, a man in a Marine service uniform was lead out by one of the pilots, holding his garrison cap under his arm in the rotor's wash over to Mannsly and a Petty Officer who'd been assigned to lead him around base, and he thought, to keep and eye on the government man from Washington.

He could still hear Fisk's voice in his head, when he'd asked why he would send an _analyst_ of all people to interview someone "Son, truth is, right now were looking at a bigger picture, and i can't rouse any suspicion inside of, or outside the agency by sending a field operative out. Hell i need someone unconventional, someone to give me an idea of the Major's story. I think he might have been holding back given the circumstances when writing his report, i need you to tell me if he can be taken for everything he's said, Understand"?

He had nodded, not that it mattered and been quickly thrown on an Air Force plane heading to Puerto Rico, a few sleepless hours latter and he'd been ushered onto the Naval Station Grounds as quiet as a married man sneaking in a lover. And now on a tarmac, shaking hands with a Marine corps Major.

"Hal Jordan"? Kurt asked, having to yell over the rotors as they began winding down. The large brown haired man nodded shaking his hand "Yes sir, you the Washington spook"? Despite being a "Spook" Mannsly allowed himself a joke "Your parents DC fans i take it"? The pilot laughed "No sir, just a matter of coincidence i suppose."

Kurt chuckled at that. The Petty officer, a dark skinned man with a tag that read Tanner spoke up "Sir, we have a room ready for you this way". He gestured away from the tarmac towards a row of low buildings. Kurt nodded "Major Jordan, if you'll follow, we have a lot to discuss. The small conference room was stark, a plastic table and white walls, with a pitcher of water and glasses on the table.

Gesturing for him to sit, Kurt took a seat, and looked over the file one last time before starting the interview. "Mr Jordan, your a member of the 211th Marine Fighter Attack Squadron, aboard the USS _Battan_ , correct"? Jordan smiled "Yes sir, "Wake Island Avengers" he smirked crossing his arms and giving the Squadron's nickname. Kurt took note of his pride and went on "The 211th is currently flying the F-35B Lightning fighter"?

" _Was_ flying them" Jordan spat out, disgust lacing his voice "Some Arizona state senator grilled the Corps and the Navy over the safety of em a few years back, next thing you know, were dusting off the Harriers for the "forseeable future", Harrier isn't a bad aircraft though, hell she kept me alive."

"So what happened on March 28th? Please give me all the details, even if...a bit hard to believe." Jordan looked at him a moment, as if taking in what he had said, before sighing and starting his story.

"We sortied two AV-8B, myself and Captain Watts..." he took a moment, Kurt thought to compose himself, before going on. it didn't sound like it was easy for him. "We...intercepted the aircraft...and were ordered to shoot it down..."

Kurt interjected "You didn't try and escort it out of the area?"

"Negative, it wasn't civilian traffic, and it was in a no fly zone, we need to be ready at anytime for a drill, combat loadouts for all aircraft, the entire nine yards, not the sort of place a forgetful Cessna pilot wants to wander into. And the way it moved..." he stopped, his eyes pivoting to the wall, Kurt guessed he was reliving this battle inside.

He gave the Marine a moment, before speaking again "What? How did it move"?

"The way it moved was impossible. I know aircraft, and no aircraft in the world can make maneuvers like that, not that quickly and not the fast without killing the pilot. Whatever that thing was, it was unmanned at the least." he slammed a hand on to the table for effect "And no aircraft i know of was packing the fire power that thing had! It shot my missile out of the air like it was a skeet."

"If it wasn't an manned aircraft, what was it Major? A drone."

"I...don't know what...but whatever it was it was more advances then anything we have..." he took another deep breath "Whoever built that thing, is a threat to us, that is a fact."

Kurt took a few more notes, well also reading the man's face. It was twisted into an expression of hard seriousness, his body, his voice tense when he went on to describe the aircraft's movements, and his comrades death at it's hands. Kurt understood it wasn't an easy task for him, not only to relive such an event so soon after it had happened, but to have to explain it to a "Spook".

"So you believe this aircraft has capabilities ahead of our own military"? Jordan scowled. "Whatever that thing was, it makes an F-22 look like a paper weight, can move at Gs that would kill a man and has weapons we can only dream of, what do you think"?

He made a good point, that was a badly worded question on Kurt's part. Taking some notes, he looked at the marine "Major, you've been a great help, thank you" and stood up, shaking his hand across the table. Thanking him again for the help he'd given. Walking him out to the tarmac, the Seahawk crew going through the steps of readying the bird for take off. Again hands were shook, and both men departed, one aboard the Seahawk taking off in the mid morning drizzle on it's way back to the _Battan_ , the other two hours latter aboard a C-17 Galaxy bound for Joint Base Andrews in Maryland with a briefcase filled with vital information.

 **Wow, to my word...i lied. Because notice how this is chapter 2, and chapter 3 isn't up yet? Ah well at least i can be honest now and say well i can get these up rather quickly, i don't think i or anyone else will want me sitting on chapters for weeks at a time well i work on another. Besides that, happy to see this got a decent reception, not the outstanding praise i was hoping for but i wasn't really being realistic with my expectations there was i?**

 **Still people like this, and i like writing it. Win-Win huh?**


	4. Chapter 4

**DGI Headquarters, Havana Republic of Cuba, April 8th, 202-**

The core glowed red in the dark room as it scanned over the data it had been given, packets of data...files, from a source marked _Wikipedia_

This Wikipedia was vast in it's informaton on this world, one so similar to the last it had inhabited in terms of history and geography,although the humans...Cubans a page told it they were called, had only given his so much. It knew why, they did not trust it. The feeling was likewise felt by the core. They wanted it to win them power over others, something it would do for now. So far, it seemed they had come out of the losing end of a series of smaller conflicts called the Cold War, and to it's north a group of humans...the United States...a larger power with far more resources in both industry and military power, it would seem their military forces would need some adapting on the core's part if it was to be on par with such a nation.

In another file, one on culture, it found something that gave it an odd feeling, a page on a group of human nomads that had lived in Eastern Europe...the landmass that had seen so much conflict on the world the core had once been on, named the Neuri...similar to the name the other world humans had given the cores. The same name it had given the human Franco to refer to it as. After a moment, it found this to be ironic, one of the few emotions cores felt. The humans had given them this name, after a group they knew nothing about, and even debated it's very existence, but such are the affairs of inferior organisms it mused.

The human Franco told it in a few rotations of the planet, the core would be expected to show it's combat power in a show of strength, it seemed they wanted to know what it could do towards their nations defense. Like any task, the core studied what it had to work with, and began building a plan in it's center on how to execute it. And it still had many files to go through for it's own goals.

It would take time to go through all the data, many more rotations of the planet at it's current strength, but it would be well spent, for once it had all it needed, both in power and information, it would be able to cast away these carbon based chains and operate fully independently, it felt another emotion for a moment, the one humans called _pleasure_ for it could not wait for that day to come soon enough...

 **White House, April 10th**

For a moment, he was back _there_ again. The sound of mortars in his ears ringing out across the desert, men scrambling for cover, and one poor 20 something Marine corporal screaming in the sand, half his leg gone. He hadn't left him to die out there, and had been given a back riddled with shrapnel for his trouble. Bolting up in bed, sweat beading his brow, he breath slowly subsided to softness. No matter what he did, that horrid memory of Febuary 24th 1991 wouldn't go away.

The clock at his bedside read 4 _:59_. He sighed at the sight getting up _Might as well start my day then_ he thought as he sat up in bed, swinging his legs around to the edge and blinking in the darkness before turning on the lights...

...

His day started like most, with silence. He was unmarried, the first man to hold office in the US since Grover Cleveland to be without a spouse, oh how the press had made a field day of it, at least the nastier networks had. Two years in, that sort of poor publicly didn't phase him, but in private, it was a bit lonely sometimes, he was glade his work kept his busy to keep his mind off of it for the most part during the day. His morning briefing was next, the daily agenda, a meeting with the vice president of Mexico at 9:00, followed by by an update report on a hike in oil prices by the Saudis, cheap bastards seemed to be upping the price of a barrel by ten dollars ever other year now alongside a meeting with their own VP on the matter and then..a phone call with Fisk, updating him on the incident in the Caribbean.

The day went mostly quiet, his morning brief mention some flare up in Asia, pirates in the Strait of Malacca, some of the oil companies that sent goods and oil through the strait wanted the 7th Fleet to send over a Surface Action Group, "For peace of mind" despite the fact the Malaysian and Indian Navies already had patrols in the area. "Peace of mind" was a load of crap, just an excuse to waste the Navy's time. Besides that, the most pressing issue was Tropic Eagle, she was only a week away now, the Mexican Navy was sending a few frigates out, and the Brazilians were sending their Aircraft Carrier _São Paulo_

Tropic Eagle was a joint training for military operations, and aid missions, something he'd been big on during election, and with an MEU and half a dozen frigates deployed, he wanted to keep up to date to know things were running smoothly. The day flowed on, paperwork and his meeting with the Arabian VP, a short clean shaved man who explained his country merely needed money for more defensive measures with Iran, sore point between both countries since he refused to further ship them arms with their human rights record. He wondered if his putting morals before money might now be coming back to blow up in his face.

He'd kept calm. Until the VP brought up the same act he'd seen before "You have so much, and refuse to help us? Is that not the American way"? A far too common tactic, that today, with his nightmare had hit a nerve. For a moment, he lost his normal calm that had won him so much support, and the yelling voice he hadn't used in so long came back. As he had put it "America has done _enough_ for your country, and _I_ have done enough for it too. We payed for it's defense in our blood, you NEVER tell me we don't care"! although he didn't flaunt it, his service in the Gulf War was known, and the little man looked just a tad more uncomfortable after he'd said that to his face, and had tried from then on to stick with oil prices alone as the the man topic. He may have been dubbed _The Loser_ by some people for always trying to make a deal fairly, but it didn't mean he reflected the name.

So after a tense hour with such things the main concern, he almost was relieved to be able to sit in his office, a few deep breaths, and look out the large windows at the lawn, an ever green thanks to the work of the best landscapers and gardeners on the planet. When the phone rang on his desk He picked it up, knowing who it was at once.

"Admiral Fisk"

"Good afternoon Mr President. I have an update on the "incident", i had one of the boys take a flight down to Puerto Rico and have a chat with the pilot who splashed this thing. To get a better feel for what we're dealing with. Given what he said..."

"What"? he asked tensely.

"Sir, it seems this thing isn't from Earth best we can tell. I'm not sure if that means we get the Air Force on this or the X-Files, but what i do know is i'll be digging deeper, that's for sure." Marshal was quiet for a moement "Your serious? Aliens?"

"Sir...there is nothing like this on this planet, it's years ahead of anything we have in terms of weapons and flight, can't be many other places it could come from could it"?

Marshal recalled two men in suits who'd entered his office the day of his inauguration who'd shown him some things in a briefcase. Classified things dating back to the 40s and 50s. What he'd seen had been nothing like this. If it was some kind of alien species, they'd never met them before either. An unknown to the government was a scary concept, the all knowing boggie men at Langley*, Fort Meade and Quantico* were stumped.

He sighed slightly and brushed a hand on his temple, a mannerism he'd been trying to get rid of for some time before returning the the matter at hand "So what your saying is we still don't know anything"? It was frustrating when the men who should have all the answers dropped the ball.

"No Mr President, we do know now that whatever this thing is, it isn't from any of our enemies. That means we can stop probing Teheran, Beijing and everywhere in between for leads on this it. Now it looks like we'll have to get NORAD* and NASA in on this, see if something out of the normal has happened in the last few weeks. This is a big lead sir."

"Well then Lawrence, i'll leave you to it."

"Good sir, i'll update you in a week on our progress."

He hung up, and James Marshal, President of the United States, slumped into his chair and moaned with what felt like the weight of the world on his shoulders.

 **Havana, Republic of Cuba, April 12th**

Hector manuvered the sturdy soviet built UAZ jeep through the light traffic of the morning. Mostly old American style cars from before the embargo, even with it lifted, trade was slow. Even driving through central Havana, the signs of the harsh life of the people were evident, many on the street, begging or working to make a little money from tourists, the one thing never in short supply.

And the slums near the city's edge? people living outside, shit in the streets? It had to stop. His proud country was dying before his eyes, it had under Castro and his brother, and now it was under Canal, unless things changed Cuba would always be as the west called a "Third World Nation". An insult to her and the people who called her home.

He would make it right damn it. With a jolt, he stopped his car as some damn _Yuma_ stepped into the street in front of him in a flower covered shirt and shorts, a camera in hand. He stopped and honked the horn made in the USSR nearly four decades earlier and yelled for him to move out the window, throwing in a good share of curses too. The _idiota_ smiled, taking a picture of him, and waved moving out of the street. letting him drive away, and leave the buffoon behind him.

God he hated tourists.

...

Lewis Puller smiled as the cube like jeep drove away, aiming the camera he held at chest height towards it, and snapping another photo of it's rear fender and plate numbers. To the average onlooker, he'd simply taken a random photo by mistake cursing loudly as it flashed to add to the lie, to a trained operrator though, it was clear he had secured a further lead. To what, he wasn't sure, but in the intelligence game, you wouldn't learn anything without risking a bad lead. All part of the game.

And the CIA had been playing the game for a _long_ time.

 **Pinar del Rio** , **Republic of Cuba, April 12th**

The dense jungles covered hills of western Cuba were often known for being alive with sounds. Birds and bugs, chirping and chirtering, even the muddled calls of tree frogs. But today, they rang with the crack of rifle fire and explosions of grenades. Within the hills, hidden away in a valley known to only a few, lay the Cuban Army's Baragua school, it's special forces training center, and home to anything that needed to be kept away from the public eye. Franco knew anything he did here would be kept secret, he himself, with his DGI ID had still gone through three screening stops at checkpoints, no one took chances in the home and training center of the Tropas Especiales, a name that literally translates to "Special Troops".

These men had seen action in Angola and more recently in Syria, trained under the watchful eye of Chinese and Russian advisors, they were the cream of the crop in the Republic's defense. But he had other things to attend to today, only a few hours before he'd gone to the president, Hector was well known enough that arranging a meeting was not an issue, and had show him all the data he had this Neuroi.

The man had been impressed, but when Hector had explained some of the uses of such a weapon, he'd tried to put them away.

"Cuba is no longer a regime bent on control Hector, we must look towards the benefits this gives us in other fields, not just military options."

He had nodded, and agreed. But leaving he knew it wasn't true, how could he be so blind? Did he not understand what this could do for the country? He let out a hot breath as he gripped the UAZ's steering wheel. He'd show him, show him how it change the country forever. That morning, the Neuroi had been driven out in an unmarked car to the base, and now a test to show it's complete power was to take place.

Now they'd see what this thing could really do.

Ten minutes latter, he'd parked his jeep and made the long walk through the jungle to the furthest test range on base, they didn't want any of the Advisors seeing this thing, better to keep it a Cuban secret for now. They'd all been sent off to help "train" the men on a series of live fire exercises, really to keep _them_ busy, hence the rattle of gunfire and grenades that now shock the hills to the east.

Ahead the Neuroi was laid out on a table, a slim laptop it used to speak with plug into it's side, a dozen officers stood around it,heads of the various departments and corps of the Cuban Military, and further off, down range, a T-55 tank sat, rusted from disuse, likely having spent much of it's life in storage. Still not too far a cry from the upgraded T-62Ms the Cuban Army used today. He raised his voice, using the tone saved for few occasion "Welcome Gentlemen. I'm sure your eager to know what i have to show you."

"It had better be, you've all but forced us to come here, and to see something you could say nothing about"! one man said with a anger laced voice, Hector recognized him as General Ernesto Anton, the commander of the Army's eastern forces, and veteran tank soldier of war in Angola. His dark green eyes, and trimmed mustache added to the uniform he wore in giving him a look of absolute command. The other officers seemed to agree with his thoughts.

"Well, let me prove myself then." he smiled like a fox, and turned his head to the Neuroi, show is what you can do." The soldiers stepped back, as the orb glow red and a piece of it...came off, launched like a rocket, and collided with the side of the tank. It flashed red, and within moments, the projectile had broken itself down and was spreading over the tank's skin. Like liquid, the hexigon patterned skin seemed to spread over the war machine like liquid, in less then a minute, it had been covered from top to bottom in black, hexigoned on the outside glowing red.

"What the hell"? he heard Ernesto whisper under his breath and felt a smile curve onto his face. He too was surprised, having expected some sort of...attack against the tank, but he played along once he caught on to what was happening The skin near the turret grew mote box like, and the treads on the side...out of them on each side came two spider like legs. The T-55 was transformed into a black hexigon skinned beast before their eyes.

The...Neuroified tank, Hector quickly devised the word, took a few tenitive steps, before traversing the turret, now stubbier, towards them. Some of the soldiers stepped back, but one man,with arms crossed and shock his head. Ernesto was impressed it seemed.

The turret traversed 180 degrees, towards a wrecked jeep set up as a target, and fired in a red flash, a shell tossing the wreck into the air, a quick burst of MG fire pocked it with holes still in the air, and it landed with a _thump_. Next it laid it's sight on a mock building, filled with cut outs of western styled troops in _Friz_ helmets. The Cannon boomed again, striking in between the first and second floor, causing the entire complex of wood and metal to come crashing down.

"I see what you meant when you called this world changing. A brigade of these could have overrun the entire South African Defense Force in day, we'd have had Angola* in a week, and likely South Africa in a month with an Army of them." Ernesto chuckled. Hector had to give him credit, for he was taking this rather in stride. Taking a deep breath, Hector spoke again "So now you see what we posses, are the rest of you impressed"?

A man in an Air Force uniform spoke first "Very Colonel Franco, with this sort of technology we could upgrade our aging Migs and their weaponry." the man's voice held promise, as did another with naval stripes on his sleves "We could update are surface fleet into a defensive for to rival anyone." The men seemed behind the concept, and so the military was behind him.

Now all he needed was the President...


	5. Chapter 5

**Western Ostmark** **November 13th, 1945**

It had not taken long for the sudden loss of a combat Neuroi to be noted. Now the loss of a combat form was not odd by any means in times of war. But one just...ceasing to exist without data on why was not something the collective mind that made up the Neuroi had ever encountered. Thus "word" was sent through the network of hives, a test was to be carried out to see if this...unexistance could be recreated again, and perhaps used to the advantage of the Neuroi...

...

 _Leutnant_ Jocelyn Müncheberg kept her eyes rolling in their sockets as she took the last witch spot in the four wing formation. With the allied push coming up from Romanga, the country the Neurou had first invaded and conquered almost six years prior was finally being retaken. Even through her flying gloves she could feel her grip tighten like a vice around the FG-42 she carried, she had blood in Ostmark, and she _would_ repay the Neuroi for their transgressions here.

"Able-4, do you see anything"? she heard the voice of her CO, Lori Henderson ask. She was older then Jocelyn, but only by a hair at six months, the 20 year old witch had flown in the Pacific theater, and been decorated for her service during the Battle of Midway in June of 1942, when she'd still been making a name for herself pot shoting Neuroi drones, Henderson had lead the assault on one of the Neuroi's Pacific carrier types, and been wounded in the process, she held nothing but the upmost respect for her for that reason alone.

"Nothing yet Ma'am." she responded in a service worthy neutral tone. The marine which flashed her a thumbs up without looking back, her other arm keeping her own gun level, as her sturdy stark white tail fluttered in the wind, a dear she'd been told upon asking about it, her own familiar was nothing so special, a simple Badger with it's striped grey and white wagger.

Still it was better then-She broke the thought as a blur from above seemed to draw her eye towards it, a small formation of four Neuroi drones, screaming towards them! "So much for this training flight" she heard Henderson laugh as she rolled out of the formation and took aim at the closet Neuroi before opening fire. The other two witches, new recruits they'd been taking on a training flight, also leapt into action, avoiding the Neuroi and firing, following Henderson's lead.

The four Neuroi broke out of their formation, and each went after a different witch. Hefting her FG-42 up, Jocelyn rolled onto her stomach and fired at the alien on her tail, a burst of yellow tracers cut the air next to the orb of death, and she cursed under breath at her aim. Going in low, she skimmed the tree tops, the evergreen's branches swaying as she moved passed them, and as the Neuroi gave chase.

She dodged left as a beam of red hot death cut into the trees mere inches from her Striker units, too close for comfort she thought firing a burst over her shoulder in return. The Neuroi darted to avoid the bullets but took it pinging off it's dark hide none the less, sparking and taking a chunk out of it's body. The Neuroi meanwhile received it's orders in an instant, filled in on the extent of it's new mission, charging up to gain altitude on her, she used this opening to turn away, hoping to regroup with the other witches, but from it's higher flight, the the monster changed it's course, diving like a bat from hell downwards at her, charging it's laser as it's core grew red hot, she turned to fire, catching sight of the black dart and raised the rune covered magic shield all witches had, and her the harsh cry of a laser blast and the Neuroi striking it as a sound like running water and ripping paper caused her to black out...

...

Dispatching the drone in front of her with her BAR, Henderson turned her head and watched another Neuroi kamikaze into Müncheberg's shield in a large flash. The next moment, she was...gone. Even if she'd been struck head on without her defenses up, there would have been wreckage, or a body, but it seemed as though the Karlslander had just...ceased to exist all at once.

"Ma'am...what happened to lieutenant Müncheberg"? with a hint of fear in her voice one of the newbie witches asked. Sadly, for herself and the newbie, Henderson knew she didn't have an answer for that, she'd lost her share of wingmen before, but this was...different. The other two witches looked to her for answers that she didn't have, instead she reported "Able flight, returning to base, one witch...lost." and turned, heading for home and _a lot_ of questions.

 **Havana, Republic of Cuba, April 14th 202-**

The small rented three room apartment in one of Havana's wealthier districts (Which wasn't saying much) was never empty, rented back to back every few months by tourists. The landlord didn't care if it seemed too good to be true, because it _was_. The "Tourist's" passports may have said they came from the United States, and that was true, you couldn't hide the fact from most Cubans, although all of them really came from Langley, the CIA had taken the lifting of the embargo rather well, and spent little time embedding agents in one of the last communist nations on Earth.

Knocking to the opening tune of the National Anthem, five raps in quick succession, and the lock and large deadbolt were unlocked and slid to allow Lewis Puller, dressed in standard tourism fair, to enter. Feeling the cool rush of an AC, a feature they'd been forced to add out of pocket because the landlord refused, for a moment, Puller forgot his worries in the chill. Next to the door in the small cooking space, a pale black haired man was poised with a small handgun, a Russian Makarov likely older then he was, a suppressor screwed into the front. He eyed the man brandishing it at the ready, held in a curved arm pointing towards the ceiling, but ready to be brought down to fire at a moments notice at him, who replied "No one ever died being too careful."

Lewis laughed "No more James Bond movies for you George, giving you too many of those damn one liners." George smiled holstering the soviet arm at his side "Hey now, what do yo take me for? An uncultured savage? I read the _books_ man."

As if that made it any better.

Ignoring George, he walked over to the small fridge, and grasped his hand around a bottle of water, slowly drinking away it's contents in seconds and cursing the "Damn humidity" aloud. Removing his camera from his neck, he placed it down next to the laptop George had sitting in front of him. George raised and eyebrow "Whats this"?

"Pics of some uniform out for a drive. Do me a favor and run his plates, someone with stars on their shoulder leaving Havana is always news Langley wants to hear." He knew of course, it'd go througho the CIA station chief at the US embassy first before going further up the chain, but the myth of the all knowing Langley was something all agents made use of.

The shorter man smiled "You Got it. I'll run the plates through our list of contacts. Even if no one _knows_ anything, we can always bribe the information out of someone." Puller nodded with a smile at the word "Aye men to that" and went to cool off in the AC further before he too got to work.

 **April 18th,** ** _San Antonio de los Baños_ airbase, Republic of Cuba**

Major Felix Álvarez shielded his face from the sun's powerful rays as he left the main building the 2661 Squadron used on base. As the senior man in the air, he was the oldest of the pilots, when he'd first started flying, they had still had the MiG-23ML as their top aircraft, and the Falcrum he flew now was a thing of dreams and bad science fiction. The fact the Air Force now held almost 30 of them in it's grip made him smile at such progress.

But today he had other things to do then layment on old memories. The entire wing had been ordered to one of the hangars, some kind of new weapon demonstration or something to that effect. He'd learned to smile and nod when any higher up ordered these sort of meetings, the faster they ended, the faster he could be back to his men and keeping their planes airworthy.

The first thing that tipped him to this not being a normal meeting, was the presence of armed guards outside the Hangar, what looked like an entire platoon, and not regular soldiers either, dressed in green uniforms with brown tiger like stripes,many armed wit short AK-74U carbines or RPK-74 light machineguns. Special Forces by the looks of them.

They moved over allowing him to enter, gazes like tigers to match their stripes. Inside, almost a dozen pilots and staff officers were grouped together in a U around a MIG-29, but this aircraft was...different. The Normal metal skin was now dark black with a hexigon pattern set over it, the cockpit tinted red, and the body being...smother, beneath the cockpit, was a large cylinder with a red orb at the end.

He was speechless as was everyone else, be it for a different reason. This was one of _his_ aircraft, and he had at no point authorized this...whatever this was! He looked about, and sure enough one man, dressed in a DGI uniform with a peaked cap, a small smirk on his face. Felix felt his blood boil "What have _you_ done to my planes"? he accused pointing a finger at the man, who only smiled.

"Nothing you would not approve of _Senior_ " he said in a happy little voice, keeping the set of words between the two of them.

"This aircraft is now one of the most advanced combat platforms on the planet, it can go toe to toe with anything anyone has."

Felix was about to argue once more, when the man smiled again "Perhaps i should show you. Who is your best pilot? My aircraft vs his in a mock duel, no ground based or airborne radar, just plane to plane to prove my point." Felix was a calm man, but he let his anger get the better of him, and nodded telling him he was the most experienced pilot in the squadron. "Good then, let me give you demonstration then".

The ground crewmen towed the Major's fighter out onto the tarmac, he only objected when he noticed them loading two R-27 air to air missiles. But the DGI man spoke up "My aircraft has counter measures, let me show you how effective they are." He nodded telling himself he wouldn't use them for any reason no matter what the man wanted. "Who will fly the other plane"? and watched the DGI man grin wider.

"It will fly itself".

He laughed at the man, "It isn't a drone, no matter how amazing you think your little "improvements are." You can't just-" he ate his words as the dark skinned jet slowly taxied _itself_ out onto the runway, the ground crew keeping their own distance from the strange sight. He walked inside, unnerved to no end, and changed into the baggy dark lime colored flight suit all pilots wore, and carried his helmet back out with him, under arm.

Stepping up the ladder into his MiG's cockpit, going through his pre flight, he couldn't help stealing a glimpse of the apparent pilotless aircraft, still as a tree trunk on the runway beside him. Checking in with the tower and pacing his oxgen mask over his mouth. He looked to the flight officer, near the edge of the runway, who nodded at him, he return it with a salute and faced forwards, turning on the plane's twin engines. He waited for the signal to take off, taking on last look at his opponent before he heard his radio static out the go signal.

He pushed the stick back as the MiG "flew" down the runway, the soviet style plates that covered it to make repairs easier creaked underneath his wheels as his plane built up speed like a fist flying out towards an enemy. As the wheels left the ground, Felix pulled sharply, banking away to the left to gain distance from the other aircraft, watching the cleared landscape and houses near the base zoom by, he leveled the aircraft and nosed her up to gain some altitude for the coming duel.

Getting her up a 2000 feet amongst some low cloud cover, the Major began his hunt. The MiG-29 was a soviet workhorses in the closing days of the cold war, built to go toe to toe with the west's Tornados and US Airforce's F-16s and 15s,with advantages and disadvantages over those fighters. But in a battle against an aircraft of the same specks, it came down not to advantages in one field or another, but skill of the pilot.

He would have no radar help, only the visual cues of the two round cameras god had given him built into his skull to find his prey. He looked around, the soft hum of the engine the only sound in the cockpit besides the steady hiss of his breathing inside the oxgen mask. The clean blue all around was empty it seemed as he swept it with his eyes. Clean as window,

His let out a breath too soon, as he heard his plane chime out, the soft beeping of a lock on by an enemy aircraft! He pulled the stick left and felt the aircraft tilt wing over wing as it spun away and the black jet zoomed by. He felt his knuckles sweat underneath his gloves as he clenched the stick tightly in defeat and heard his radio buzz with the voice of the DGI man.

"So then, do you see now what i was talking about"? he could read the sneer on the man's lips from his voice alone, and he hated it. But if he could understand Felix's anger, he ignored it as he went on "So Major, why don't you let me show your the aircraft's countermeasures well your up there? Fire on her"

"What? This is an exercise, not combat! I will not have one of my planes scrapped to make a point! I'm landing now." he said firmly. But the voice on the other end didn't agree.

"Well then Major, i'll have my aircraft make you fight then." he said as the plane turned around, black against the blue horizon and point it's nose towards him. It moved towards attack speed, slowing down as if to..." He heard the crack of it's guns before he could finish his thought. The roar of the 30mm auto cannon sounded like the crackle of a fire in the night air from how far off it was, but the cuts in the air that passed his cockpit were not signs of comfort.

"Son of a whore..." he cursed under his breath as he thumbed the fire control for the two R-27s underneath his wings and turned on the jet's internal radar, he readied both the stubby Infrared homing missiles for light, and watched the other MiG ark in a wide turn, and waited for chime. He lined up the cockpit crosshairs with it, and watched the lime green lock sign flash over it's body, by reflex he pulled the trigger, and watched on of the R-27s sail off hos wing towards it, leaving a cloudy contrail in the sky behind it.

It rocketed towards the aircraft, matching the movements it made. It killed Felix to destroy one of the precious MiGs, but it was him or it. At the last moment, as the missile seemed to close in, he watched a beam of red cut into the R-27, chopping it in two. It exploded harmlessly and the jet kept moving away, after a moment, going super sonic with a loud crack.

"What the hell..."

"I see you've seen the new countermeasures, are you impressed"? he heard the DGI man ask. He nodded and replied in a low voice "Yes...

 **Washington DC, United States,** **April 20th**

The sky was dark over the nations capital, air traffic was always kept to a minimum for security reasons, the majority of aircraft overhead being small and armed, but even then from the ground eyes kept a watch for anything out of the norm. Tonight those eyes would finally be used. In a milisecond, the once clear sky above the capital had a new object in it.

The form of a young woman seemed to materialize from thin air, tumbling downwards towards the ground, just a few miles out of range of the dozen or so "Avenger" surface to air missile batteries that hidden around the DC area, served to protect the US capitol from harm. Of course, even if they'd had a further range, the Avenger system hadn't been built to take out a airborne target the size and shape of a young woman falling towards the city bellow...

 **Andrews Air Force Base, Maryland April 20th**

Airman Eugene King yawned slightly from his seat inside the radar center at Andrews Airforce Base, his "scope" along with a dozen others was tasked with watching the skies over DC, and besides the occasional pilot veering off courses, the post was one of a routine rarely broken.

"Stare at the monitor. Report what you see" he said to himself for the third time into his four hour shift. He'd been stuck here for almost a year since graduating basic training at Lackland Airbase in Texas, his vision being just bellow the requirements for any airborne duties, leaving him stuck "on the ground here. In that time, nothing had ever gone any different, just an empty screen besides far off flights and F-16 fly overs, and government aircraft ever other minute.

So when he saw a small blip appear, tagged in red as **Unknown** he blinked once, then twice to see it clearly through the haze his mind was in. As he realized what he was seeing, another airman two seats down the line spoke up to the NCO who headed the radar section "Staff Sergeant Hiller, we have an unknown airborne contact inside DC airspace.

As the burley sergeant with a face a dark as an Oreo and a head the same shape rushed over, his eyes said it all.

This was for real.

"Airman King"! he pointed at Eugene "Get me control, we got one" he realized he was closet to the phone on the wall, and quickly dialed the number for the base's command center, and handed it to the man. He began speaking, telling them what he saw on the screen, and it dawned on King that things were about to get serious...

...

Jocelyn felt the air rippling the fabric of her jacket, and for a moment, wondered if she'd been wounded, being carried back to base in the arms of a comrade, but opening her eyes, she saw only the night sky and her body quickly falling fast towards the ground bellow her. Her eyes grew wide as she began to panic, her strikers were gun, as was her FG-42, likely lost in the fall, but what scared her more was the ground, or what she saw there.

Lights, a city. One that hadn't been there before, Ostmark was a ruin now after almost six years of war, what she saw seemed to say otherwise to that fact. Shaking her head as wind whipped by, she began chanting the magical matra in her head that would allow her to use her magic, in a moment, a blue rune covered shield appeared before her, she focused all her magic into it, the thin blue quickly bulking up. She aimed it towards the ground and hoped it might take the brunt of the damage.

Bracing herself as the ground grew closer, she could make out buildings and streets full of cars, even a large white pillar in the distance, Looking back down as she closed her eyes as she felt a force like a speeding train strike her. She blacked out, dazing awake some time latter, she felt her body cry out as she stood up, she was in some sort of ally, a dumbster and bags of trash nearby, with a low hum coming from a nearby doorway, a bit of light shining through it.

She pushed the door open with both hands, and felt her ears assaulted by loud strange music, voices that sounded like the ungodly spawn of a man and a radio, repeating the same words over and over, lights flashed in the middle of a large hall with people dressed in clothes she'd never seen, moving to the words and music. She couldn't understand what " _harder, better, faster, stronger_ " meant, or why someone would put what sounded like a mixture of piano music and radio static behind it either.

She tried to get someone to listen to her, but the first man...boy more like it given his age, she tried to speak to, looked at her with wide eyes as she asked for help in a croaking voice, before speaking Britannian quickly and brushing her off. She didn't recognize many of the words he said, much of it some sort of slang, and moved on, pulling herself across the floor full of bodies, none of which were of help beside a few laughs at her bare legs and dazed look.

Pushing past them, and a crowd of people outside, and was blinded by the lights. Cars of every color and shape drove by on the street, people laughed in a line outside the building, holding small plastic things in their palms and clicking away at them, she felt as though she was seeing another world with so many differences. She walked away, carrying herself every step away from that place, to find some sort of help...

...

"Jackasses" Kurt Mannsly said to himself as he walked out of the bar, old friends "just wanting to chat" had talked him into going to. Old friends was a good word, High School assholes who he'd made the poor choice of friending on Facebook, and had taken this little meeting as a chance to mock him. Yes he couldn't tell them where he worked, no that didn't mean it was a shithole and he was embarrassed! They thought they were tough shit and he was still a quiet wallflower.

A bunch of assholes was what they were now. Sticking the key in his car, a small red A configured sedan he'd already put his first payment on. The key clicked and as he opened the door, he heard a voice croak out " _Hilfe_ " NSA training hadn't taught him German, but two years in High School had given him enough idea of the language to know the world meant _help_.

He turned to find a woman in a black jacket, with shoulder length black hair, and large blue eyes full of fear, leaning against the fender of his car, her breath was slow. She looked like she had been through hell, or at least something akin to it. He took a small step towards her "Miss...are you..." but was cut off as she feel forwards, on instinct honed from his fair share of high school wrestling (today it seemed high school was really paying off) he caught her as she fell.

Checking her over, she didn't seem to be cut up or anything, just exhausted. She didn't need a doctor, just rest and maybe a hot meal, placing her in the back of his car, he guessed she could stay the night, he had the space, and she needed it more then he did.

Starting the engine and pulling into the light traffic of the DC nightlife, he hoped this wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass.

...

Jocelyn's sleep was filled with nightmares of capture in a strange land. The Neuroi...did things to witches they caught and it was an unspoken rule that a witch would end her life before capture, and a dreamscape of darkness and cutting only made her toss and turn throughout the night in fear. Probess and proding alongside what felt almost...soft? And a horrid noise like a automobile's horn ringing in her ears.

Opening her eyes, it was dim, but not dark. Blue walls and...sheets? She was in a bed in what seemed to be...well a bedroom, she turned her head in an arc, finding the source of the noise, a box like clock with a display that was lit up like a neon sign, they had one that glowed like it in the base mess hall a ground crewman had installed, but this was different. Looking at it, she found half a dozen buttons in Britannian on the top, and decided the biggest one had to be the answer.

Pressing down on it seemed to silence the beeping, one problem solved, but the rest she didn't think would be as easy. Where was she? It wasn't a hospital, maybe a civilian's home? Perhaps the sights of last night were a dream and she'd crashed and been pulled to safely in the countryside. But the clock seemed to say otherwise, as did some other items in the room, a bedside lamp that seemed far too small with no plug, and flat black object, looking closer, it said SONY on the front near the bottom, some kind of...radio perhaps?

Sliding off the bed, she felt the cool wood floor on her soles, and headed towards the door, a standard wooden one, a sight for once in this place familiar. Turning the knob, she opened it with a low creak, cursing at herself for it, the sound was loud given the lack of anything else to mask it. Stepping into a decently sized hall she followed it towards a larger room, with a sofa and another of those odd radios.

The slight hiss of breath told her someone was asleep on the sofa. Creeping forwards, she caught a glimpse of a slumbering man. His hair was a light shade of blonde cut short, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. Looking over him, she let out a low breath, enough it seemed that he opened his eyes and looked into hers. Neither spoke for a minute, silently looking over the other until the man smiled slightly.

"I take it your going to want some breakfast"?

...

She ate a lot.

Well he supposed anyone would after the night she'd been through. A stack of toast, four eggs and three glasses of OJ to boot. All that would have taken him an entire morning to finish, she did it in less then 15 minutes flat. Her English however was less tested then her appetite it seemed, she could speak a decently enough, be it with an obvious German accent, but that and the question of what she wore weren't as easy to answer.

It was clearly a uniform, dark black with a bit of green trim, and the eagles on it made him think of Germany during WW2, he'd played enough _W_ _olfenstein_ in Highschool to know a German uniform when he saw one. Although her legs were clad in dark stocking rather then pants. He found that the most vexing part of the puzzle that now sat before him.

"So...what happened last night? You were pretty roughed up."

She swallowed her food, before looking at him with wide eyes. "Mein...my unit was attacked by the Neuroi and in an instant, i was falling...then you found me." Her answer seemed to only create more questions. Maybe she was till shaken from the night before...or maybe she was crazy and had escaped from some home, although she seemed "normal" enough, well a little any way.

"So..your a soldier..."?

Her eyes widened and she nodded with a smile "A witch in fact." He had to hold back a laugh, she thought herself some kind of witch, now he wondered if it was too late to bet on her being crazy. Her earlier statement also brought questions "Neuroi"? he asked. She sipped half a glass of orange juice before she answered "Ya,Neuroi, bastard clipped me with a beam and then "poof" i am falling" she made a whoosh noise and aimed her open palmed hand towards the table.

He felt something _click_ in his mind, but didn't know what it was. Still this Neuroi...

He felt that click again "What do these...err Neuroi look like"? he sounded a tad frantic, but he supposed she didn't notice since she didn't react. "Dark skin,like machines but...not, armed with lasers." she nodded staring at him, perhaps she thought he was crazy, given her tone she acted like these Neuroi were a normal thing.

He handed her a pen and a pad of paper, she looked over the blue plastic pen like it was magic, before quickly drawing a rough V like shape, all one wing, covered in hexgons. It was the same as the Harrier guncam film in everyway...

"I am...not where i thought, am i"? she asked, now realizing she may be somewhere other then Kansas. He nodded "No your not, but i think i know someone who may be able to help". He grabbed his car keys, and within six minutes, they were on the highway well above the posted speed limit heading towards Fort Meade.

 **Office of the President, Havana Cuba, April 21st**

President Canel was a busy man. His day began as the sun rose, and the breakfast he had every morning had been worked from his stomach by mid day. Cuba was rift with problems left from the Castros. The poor in the streets begging from tourists, what little money she had being used to keep her government running, and only the slow trickle of imports starting to pump new blood into her veins.

So at 11:00 exactly when he heard the sound of yelling from outside his door, he stood up from behind his desk, and wondered if he should check on it, or let his staff handle it. He was gearing towards the latter when he heard the sound of a gunshot followed by three more and a scream, in an instant his door was swinging open, a man dressed in a dark soviet style uniform with a vest and a mask pulled over his face. In his grasp was a stubby AK-74u carbine.

Canal held up his hands to show he was unarmed and not a threat. The man slowly entered, followed by another dressed and armed the same. Behind them striding as if on parade was Colonel Hector Franco, a man Canal had never thought the type to lead a coup. The tall man smiled "Surprised i take it"? he asked. Canal stayed silent.

"So be it sir. I don't need you to speak. Hell i only need you to follow these two here, once this is all over you will understand why i'm doing all this."

Again, he stayed silent. But once outside, he gasped, a man in a suit lay dead against a wall in the outside office, in his grasp, a pistol. It was Mendo, the soft spoken man on his security detail who he had spoken to more then once about god, the small cross he wore around his neck was something they had in common. Now that had was in the past tense.

Franco did not smile now, his lips lowered "I'm sorry, we meant for no one to be hurt, your detail had been informed of our mission, but it seemed Mendo had a change of heart, a brave man to the end it seemed". He sighed. Canal felt not only loss for a friend, but anger, _of course_ the DGI ran his bodyguard detail, they had planed for this! How else could they get into one of the most guarded places in Cuba with such ease?

The small band of commandos, two more stationed outside his office holding his staff at bay with their carbines, lead him towards the roof, the few uniformed guards he saw only lowered their heads as they passed by. Up a fight of stairs and on the roof, he heard the soft mummur of rottor blades, and spotted the shape of an Army MI-17 come into view.

The sound was deafening, and one of the commandos handed with a set of ear plugs, from they way they stood, it appeared they already wore their own. As the chopper touched down a door on its side slide open and a man inside waved them towards it, one of the commandos patted his back, he nodded bending over and letting the man guide him inside the aircraft, as the last black clad soldier climbed aboard, a crewman closed the door behind him and the aircraft took off again.

Inside, with the rotors noise making the craft seem to shake, Canal shouted over them at Hector "What do you wish to acomplish through all this?

He smiled wide, like a cat with a blind mouse before it "Sir, i wish to save Cuba" he did not go further, and he did not need to. For the rest of the ride, the now _former_ president of the Republic of Cuba, was silent.

 **Rosario Air Base,Neue Karlsland, November 14th, 1945**

The sheets ruffled as she reached for the ringing phone in the darkness, her hair a mess of her normal bob. Taking it in hand and sitting upright, Ursula Hartmann heard the voice on the other end, a story that sounded like it couldn't be true, but the enemy they fought had surprised them before, she nodded saying she was on her way, and put the phone down. Next to her in the dark room, a young man yawned "What was that about"?

She sighed putting on her glasses by the nightstand to look at Peter von Luck, her fiancé. The young man locked his dark eyes with hers as she answered him. "We're going to Ostmark."


End file.
